Blurb ​

Vancouver’s up-and-coming crisis agent, workaholic Casey Graves, is due for a promotion. After spending the last two decades punishing the deserving on behalf of Nemesis, Greek Goddess of Divine Retribution, she’s at the top of her game. Now, the coveted position of Overseer is within her grasp—a gig with exclusive perks like flexible working hours and immortality.

All she has to do is complete the Final Trial and balance the scales of justice by killing an ex-soldier named Eric Hayes. No problem… except he’s innocent and she’s inexplicably smitten with him. Insta-love? Hardly. She’d never fall for that. Someone’s pitting her ambition against her integrity. Suspecting foul play, Casey sets out to discover who sabotaged her and why Eric is so important. However, the goddess of revenge doesn’t tolerate being slighted and refusal to execute her orders is a treasonous act, resulting in severance pay of the fatal sort.

With the help of her best friend, a mysterious grim reaper, Casey quits her job and goes on the run with Eric, determined to escape Nemesis’ wrath and stay alive. If Casey is to save the dude in distress, she’ll need to give up everything and go to extreme measures—including entering deals with other gods—to evade a boss who can’t be killed.

Crisis Agent is a dark urban fantasy novel that’s heavy on the action and light on the romance.

Excerpt of Crisis Agent

I let him keep the red Ferrari for an entire week before I blew it sky high.

Of course, I waited until he was in the neighbour’s wife before I detonated, effectively killing two birds with one stone. The isolated plateau I watched from dropped off abruptly at my feet, as if one of the gods had taken an axe to the mountain, shearing off its face. My vantage point provided a perfect bird’s eye view of the gated community that harboured the privileged. As if some intricate wrought iron could stop me.

The fireball shot into the heavens with a thunderous boom, cranking the heat on an already hot August afternoon. Yellow and orange flames rampaged for oxygen, licking over each other like lions fighting over scraps. A shimmery blast wave pulsed outwards. The explosion echoed into the rock face beneath my feet and rocketed through my body, the supersonic shock wave slapping me back savagely. Then the blast wind whipped back, ghosted across my face like a lover’s last caress and mussed up my long hair. I caught a runaway strand, tucked it behind my ear and surveyed my work with pride.

You get what you deserve.

Across the harbour, Van City shimmered like a high noon heat wave in Death Valley, waiting for me to claim it. Cops were undoubtedly already on their way, but law enforcement was the least of my worries. Why worry about the cops when there were gods to contend with?

Completed missions were satisfying, but the means to the end was what I truly lived for. Rewind ten minutes. I’d been scoping out the neighbourhood, my hood up despite the heat. It was less of a fashion statement and more of a the-hoods-are-magicked-with-invisibility kind of thing. All agents received the power of invisibility when we draw our hoods up, making target recon—and escaping unseen—child’s play. Too bad it didn’t come with air conditioning.

The Ferrari was easy to spot through the gate’s railings, parked crookedly in a driveway a few houses down. An indication the driver was in a rush. Or had pressing matters to attend to. With the security guard inside the tiny hut conveniently suffering from a severe case of the naps, courtesy of yours truly, the gates swung open at my will, and I edged my way inside. My footsteps sounded loud on the pavement. At this hour, most of the residents were at work, or lamped out in front of the tube watching soaps in the comfort of their air-conditioned, multimillion-dollar homes, while their perfectly manicured lawns refused to wilt.

The F12 Berlinetta ticked as it cooled down. I ran a finger along the smooth length of the pristine body, following sleek curves polished to such a high gloss they reflected the late afternoon sky above. I chased the drifting clouds, puffy, white, and full of themselves, noting the greasy smear my finger left. Was the owner the kind of perfectionist who’d have a hissy fit upon seeing his paint job marred by something as insignificant as a finger smear?

A flicker of movement caught my attention. Craning my neck, I looked through the large bay window dominating the front of the house. There he was. But he wasn’t alone. He had company, and I’d been counting on it. The hastily drawn curtains didn’t hide much, rather accentuating the fact that no one placed much value on foreplay these days.

I leaned up against the car and watched the couple go at it. The hood was warm, a combination of the heat radiating from the engine below and the sun beating down from above. The slow ticking of the exhaust winding down provided a staccato soundtrack, lending the beat to the proceedings inside. I shook my head and made a quiet tsk-tsk sound, doubting they’d have noticed me even with my hood down. That would have required them to press, say their faces, against the glass instead of other body parts.

Shifting my focus inward, I concentrated my will. Set the charges, so to speak. My core swelled with the increasing pressure of the upcoming crisis, begging to be released. Not yet. My gaze lingered, and my spying evoked a surprising sense of longing deep within me that rustled its feathers in impatience. That too, I pushed back. I had no time for such thoughts, not now.

I stood and patted the luxury sports car, bidding farewell to the rearing, yellow-framed stallion that stood for status in today’s society, then wiped my palms on my faded black jeans. Today was a bad day to be a stallion.

Now all I needed was the perfect vantage point. I quickly spotted the plateau, borrowed the security guard’s car, and drove up there. How considerate of him to leave the keys in the ignition.

After stashing the car on the gravel road a ways back, I pushed my way through fragrant woods of cedar and fir, alive with sparrows chirping my personal backup symphony. I situated myself on the plateau and peered over the edge, judging the drop to the lush mountainside dotted with luxury homes. My gaze slid to the house with the Ferrari parked in the driveway. If I wanted to, I could use my altered vision to zoom in on the couple. However, having already marked them, I was content to let them become fuzzy skin shadows melting into each other.

Pulling out my palm-sized tablet, I scrolled through the docket and checked my list of names one last time, silently blessing modern technology for simplifying my job. Sure, as agents of the gods, we received supernatural gifts in return for service, but tech had come a long way since the first Chosen had enlisted. In ancient times, the list of names had been painstakingly etched onto stone tablets. At first, I thought these were just stories the agents passed around over beers, but then an ancient Overseer from Warsaw, in a boastful moment of drunkenness, had shown me one such tablet, one that hadn’t been destroyed upon completion. I remember how I had hefted the weight and mused at how annoying they must have been to schlepp around. One day, I’d be sitting at the Overseers’ table, griping about the good ol’ days too. The thought made me smile.

Another swipe across the screen and two names flared up, confirming my current targets. Intuitive premonition kicked in, killing the birdsong. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Crisis was more than just pulling a trigger. It was letting go, finally giving what was due all along. I released the crisis, my body easing as the sensation left me, and looked up from the tablet just in time to catch the explosion. Ferrari fragments flew through the air, raining down thousands of dollars in useless scrap. The blast wave crashed into the front of the house, shattering the living room windows; a pleasant byproduct of the car’s close proximity to the house. The violent spray of glass shards caught the glint of the sun and transformed into dangerous sparkling jewels. A moment later the sound hit me, a bass boom that resonated to my core. The shock wave flushed the sparrows from the trees. They took wing, voicing their discontent in a flutter of wings.

I zeroed in on the scene. A yawning mouth gaped from the house, the splintered wooden slats like jagged teeth. Air rushed in to fill the atmospheric pressure void, dragging the cream lace curtains behind it, only for them to be sucked back out by the explosion-induced breeze. The dry material caught flame instantly, scattering a flurry of ashes into the smoke and flames billowing from the Ferrari’s carcass. Despite the magnitude of the blast, the surrounding homes remained unscathed, with the property damage limited to the targets. I resisted the urge to brush my knuckles against my shoulder. If I kept this up I might just get the promotion after all.

“Boom,” I said out loud, touching the brim of my hood in a gunslinger’s salute. Instinctively, I moved closer to watch the crisis unfold.

“Damn, late to the action again,” a familiar voice startled me from behind.

I flinched, my boots kicking a few loose rocks over the precipice. “Shit, Ash, are you trying to give me a heart attack? I almost fell over the edge,” I said, taking a careful step back.

“That’s what you get for living on the brink,” he retorted, his smile smug from underneath his hood. Ash closed the gap between us in a few long strides, his unlaced boots soundless as he approached. I scrutinized the ground behind him but he’d left no discernible footprints, not a single blade of grass disturbed. It was eerie how lightly this man could tread when he wanted to, reminding me of the phrase, “Death comes silently.”

I scowled. Ash knew I hated it when he snuck up on me, especially when I was working. He got off on catching me off guard.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to walk around with your laces untied? You might trip and fall on that pretty face,” I muttered, but the corners of my mouth tugged into a smile before I finished the sentence.

“I could,” I replied, without spite or malice, just simple assurance. I threw him a challenging glare and thought about tying his shoelaces together.

Ash accepted, nearing until he stood less than an arm’s length away. It took all my power not to step back. He tugged his hood back and tilted his face to me, eliciting an involuntary clenching in my stomach. His blond hair sprung free, landing in a tousled mess on his forehead, the tips dangling in his defiant eyes, which glittered dangerously. The sides and back of his head were sheared close, but still caught the glint of the sun, making his hair almost translucent. Despite it being the end of summer, his skin remained pale, never burning or tanning. But all that was nothing compared to his eyes. Those intense eyes, the palest blue, like the ice of a frozen waterfall. He might just be a reaper, but to me, he was the epitome of death.

The endless depths of his gaze sucked me in, the outside world fading to white noise. I became captive in his web. The intensity of his stare grew until it took my breath away, the only sound my heart pounding in my ears. It must have been my imagination but I swear my heartbeat slowed. Somewhere deep within, a part of me struggled, and mustering all my effort, I averted my gaze, breaking the spell and promptly losing the staring contest. The world rushed back in a stream of colours and sounds.

I sucked in a breath of fresh air, the scent of pines bringing me back to the present. There was no competing with a reaper like Ash. Somehow he had eradicated my intent to tie his shoelaces together. I never said as much, but I secretly hoped when I died he’d be the one to reap my soul. It would be comforting to have a familiar face take me to the great beyond. Although, if I had my way, the day I died wasn’t going to come anytime soon.

Or ever.

His eyes returned to normal, innocent save for the playful smirk on his lips. He pushed back the sleeves of his tattered black hoodie, baring wiry forearms. Even taller than myself, he was all long lines defined by a strong, lean physique. Although he often wore his hood up like the cliché reaper, I’d never seen him in a gaudy robe. Or toting a scythe. Like myself, he never carried weapons. Not that that made him any less intimidating. If he ever were to appear in such a get-up, he’d probably be heading for a Gregorian chant concert or a Halloween party, not coming to haul your ass to the Underworld.

But he wasn’t here to reap my soul. Not today anyway.

“You win,” I said, even though reapers and crisis agents didn’t compete. Our relationship was based on mutual business interests.

The wind shifted, bringing an onslaught of smoke and the acrid smell of burning fuel our way, nudging dark memories buried deep. The taste was bitter upon my tongue. Absentmindedly, I rubbed my palm and wrinkled my nose, craving another fresh breath of the trees behind me. Breathing through my mouth didn’t help much. Ash chuckled. I threw him a dirty look but his attention had already deviated to the crime scene below.

“Now that’s what I call a climax,” he said, gesturing back to the house.

My telescopic vision zoomed in. The pair stood in the window, framed by jagged glass shards and splintered wooden trim. An orange sheen danced across their naked bodies. One thing was certain, they no longer looked as vigorous as compared to a few moments ago. My soot covered target gaped at the remnants of his car, his hands clenched into fists. His prized body part was left hanging as the rest of his body tightened with tension.

“Yep.” I chuckled. “Definitely the type that freaks out about finger smudges.”

The woman disappeared from view, returning a moment later with a large dress shirt drooping from her thin frame. A breast peeked out from the haphazardly buttoned shirt, the nipple a flushed pink that matched her smudged lipstick. Her shaking knees were red from carpet burn. She sported the never-in-vogue hairstyle of the freshly fucked. Technically, the correct term would be bedhead, however no bed had been involved. Her face was also aghast, but I suspected it was for completely different reasons. Something flickered in her eyes, and her expression shifted minutely. She raised her hand to her mouth, but it was too late. I’d seen it. That split second when realization hits them. When they know karma kicked their ass.

Satisfaction rushed through me. I loved being karma’s steel-toe boot. I glanced over at Ash, who was clearly enjoying the show despite muttering about how he definitely needed better timing.

The slow wail of sirens signalled the cops’ arrival. A convoy of fire trucks and patrol cars approached, followed by the armoured vehicle of the emergency response team. Retrieving my tablet, I crossed two names off the list with a finger swipe, the names flashing briefly before disappearing.

“Double whammy?” Ash peeked at the list over my shoulder.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You sure had fun with it.”

“Purely for the sake of efficiency.” How I carried out my missions was left up to me, as long as due justice was given and the balance restored. That’s one of the main reasons why Ash chose to stick close, it was in his own interest to be nearby in case things went wrong—or right if you looked at it from his perspective.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said.

“Alright, so I’ve found a channel for my creativity. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t hang around so much.”

Ash placed a hand on his chest in mock offence and chuckled. “Though my chances aren’t looking very good at the moment. Up for a drink?” he asked, as I continued to scroll through my never-ending list of names.

I held up a finger. Something nagged at me. I reviewed the crisis. It had gone as intended: clean execution, balance restored. My boss would be pleased. Still, I ran through the list again.

“Earth to Casey,” he crooned, tucking a long finger under my chin and forcing my gaze to meet his. His touch was inexplicably cool yet warm at the same time.

“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, lifting the tablet to peer at the list over his arm. “That’s it!” I exclaimed, spotting a familiar name on the list. “Hartwell. Mark Hartwell, husband of Julia Hartwell.”

“Meaning?” questioned Ash.

I pointed to the scene below. The emergency response team tumbled out of the armoured vehicle, sporting flak jackets and tactical rifles. Firefighters rushed to put out the car fire despite being burdened by heavy equipment while officers cordoned off the crime scene. I spotted the pudgy security guard, looking anything but well rested, and the tiniest stab of pity flashed through me.

“It means,” I said slyly, as I tapped a command into my tablet, “that the show isn’t over yet.”

The tablet ran a systematic search until a number flashed on the screen. I punched the number into my cell phone, and waited until it started ringing before switching to speaker mode. Ash stepped closer as I held the phone between us, his scent of fresh snow blanketing warm amber washing over me. I took a subtle whiff. The man smelled good, shades better than the nasty Ferrari smoke.